Lindsey was waiting for her. He’d done his research, carefully following her for days, snippets at a time, in order to see where she went. Who she talked to. What she did. And why. 

It was more than professional interest, he’d admit that. He was fascinated with Buffy Summers. Her actions, her reasonings, her day to day existence. Why she was there, what she did. All of which, he hoped, would lead him to understand why he was so damned fascinated with her.  

But then he always did like strong women.  

“My goddess,” he said, bowing as she walked past him. “If you so desire, may I please have a moment of your time?” 

Buffy paused, considered his request. Drusilla was at her side, as she often was, Lindsey had noticed in the time he’d been here. He really, really, wished he knew how long that was. Not having a calendar, a schedule, bothered him more than he wanted to admit. But that wasn’t the point. No, the point was that Drusilla scared him.  

But he needed to get close to Buffy Summers, no matter her entourage. 

“Lindsey MacDonald,” she nodded, waving her guards away. They moved about an inch, from what Lindsey could tell. “Geez,” she hissed. “Five minutes.” 

Drusilla petted a hand down Buffy’s hair and moved away, shooing the guards as she did so. But Buffy hadn’t moved. In fact, she stood perfectly still, waiting. For what, Lindsey wondered. Or was this her way to showing she was in charge? 

“My goddess,” he bowed again, moving a step closer. “I merely wanted to compliment you. The people,” he waved a hand, smiling charmingly as he did so. She didn’t move. “They adore you. Your beauty, your gracefulness. And,” his voice dropped and he moved a step closer. “If I may say, your place here. It’s brought something to the demons I’ve never seen before. They respect you. Fear you. And,” he chuckled, moving just a little closer. “They love you.” 

“Yes,” she smiled faintly. “It’s much different than it once was. But why tell me this?” 

Laughing in a self-deprecating manner, Lindsey moved that final step between them. Buffy frowned, shuddered – in desire? Revulsion? – but didn’t move. He wondered why that was. Wondered so many things about the beauty before him. Wondered what she would’ve been like if Angelus hadn’t brought hell to earth.  

“I realize neither myself nor Lilah got off on the right foot here. Our,” he frowned, reached a hand into his pocket to feel the syringe. “Information suggested something much different.” 

Her voice relaxed even if her body did not. “You should always do your research, Mr. MacDonald. Never listen to what others tell you. It’s often wrong.” 

“Yes,” another laugh, and Lindsey was relieved when she joined him. “But please, call me Lindsey.” 

“Lindsey,” she tilted her head to the side. Was that a conscious thing? To show off Angelus’ Mark? Or was it something she wasn’t aware of? “What do you and Lilah want here?” 

“We were sent to make a treaty with Angelus….ah, my god.” He hastily corrected, seeing the flash of anger in her eyes. “However, he doesn’t seem interested in anything we have to offer.” 

“Why should he?” Her eyebrow raised in haughty question, her voice cool. “When one controls the world, one has no need of others.” 

“Ah, hmm,” Lindsey nodded. Others. Except her. Angelus had definite need of her. His hand slipped out of his pocket, carefully gripping the tiny needle out of her sight. He only needed a moment. One moment to drug her, one moment to take her away to the Wolfram & Hart building. Then he and Lilah, who were forced to work together on this as neither had a better, solitary plan, could begin.  

Their experiments, though the thought churned his stomach. Their questions. Their takeover of Angelus’ domain. 

He was so close now. Standing intimately close with her. Only one more….

Then she jerked around, looking to her left. This was his chance, but he never got to use the opportunity her distraction provided. Angelus’ hand wrapped around his throat. With a shred of thought left, that wasn’t directed on his own preservation, Lindsey slipped the syringe back into his pocket.  

“How many times,” Angelus asked in that low, scarily conversational voice he had, “do I have to warn you away from my woman, Lindsey? Can’t you see she’s Marked?” he leaned closer. “I can smell the lust all over you, boy.” 

Tightening his grip, Angelus’ eyes swirled with anger and power. He was going to kill the insolent whelp. Murder him over and over again until his anger, his pounding rage, was assuaged. Until Lindsey couldn’t remember the reason he was chained to the wall in the first place. Screw the long-term plan. Whatever Wolfram & Hart wanted, Angelus didn’t care. Lindsey was a dead man. 

“Angelus,” Buffy said in a quiet voice. But her eyes were silver and angry on Lindsey’s. Lowering her voice so only Angelus could hear, she said, “Don’t kill him. He did it on purpose, I know that; I’m not a fool. But please. Don’t kill him.” 

He’d followed her out of their rooms, angry at her leaving. At least she had enough sense to take her guards. And Drusilla who was even now hovering to the side. In no way was he finished with his little lover. In no way. 

“Don’t do something now you might regret later.” 

“I doubt, lover,” he said in an equally low voice as Lindsey’s life was slowly choked out of him, “that I’ll regret killing the bastard.” 

“Angelus, please,” and her voice was low. And, damn her, pleading. 

Dropping the boy to the ground, Angelus looked at Buffy. “You should choose carefully, baby, who you wish to save. And why.” 

Watching him storm off, Buffy glared down at Lindsey. She didn’t help him up, didn’t do more than restrain the impulse to kick him in the ribs.  

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I hope it’s worth it for you. Because its going to get you killed...it ends now. Don’t make the mistake of using me again to get yourself killed. I won’t help you into Hell any faster. This isn’t the first time I’ve saved your life, Lindsey, only to have you throw away the chance I gave you. Don’t use me again to get to Angelus. Stop trying.”

She walked away, intent on finding Angelus. To apologize? Or to fight it out? She wasn’t sure. She suddenly stopped, but didn’t turn to face Lindsey. “The next time you won’t be as lucky.” 

Dru watched from the sidelines, waited until Buffy had left with Donato fast behind her. Hauling Lindsey upright, she growled. “Mummy allows you to live. She allows this only because she’s a kind goddess. But you should take this opportunity, little human pawn, and run.” 

“Angelus.” He didn’t stop, so Buffy quickened her pace. She wasn’t sure why she was following him, other than…no, she wasn’t sure why she was following him. She was still furious with him over his deception, his manipulation. But something within her wouldn’t let him just walk away like that.  

Thinking she’d betrayed him.

“Damn you,” she snarled, reaching out for him to stop. But she was still several paces away, still out of arm’s reach. Angelus lurched to a stop.  

“Buffy,” he growled, jerking his head to face her. He was furious, oh, there was no doubt about that. Catching up to him, Buffy wondered how to release him when she didn’t know how she’d managed to stop him in the first place. 

“Umm, huh.” Confused, she looked up at him. “Well, good. Now that I have your attention.” He growled again, but she ignored that. Or tired, but the sound send a shiver of arousal through her. The cocky look in his eyes, however, ticked her off. 

“Look. I didn’t do anything with Lindsey, and you damn well know that. He was babbling on about grace and the demons…I’m not really sure, I didn’t pay that much attention. He’s after something from you.” 

“He’s after you,” Angelus moved his arms, reached out and grabbed her to him. Buffy wondered how that had happened when he couldn’t seem to move anything else. Weird. So, so weird. “He wants you. Personally, yes. He lusts after you.” It was said on a growl. 

“He wants you for Wolfram & Hart, too. To take you from me.” 

“Angelus,” Buffy raised her hands, circled his wrists with her hands, feeling the reassuring coolness. “He doesn’t want me. He wants me only to get to you.” 

Hauling her forward, crushing his lips to hers, he countered. “Wrong, lover. He wants you. And you,” he growled. “You encourage him.” 

“He wanted to talk to me!” she said, exasperated. “Everyone wants to talk to me here. You encourage that!” 

“You’re mine, lover.” 

“That’s not the point. The point is…” Buffy sighed, relaxed, and that was when she realized that once she did, Angelus could move freely once again. “I don’t know what the point is.” 

“You don’t walk away from me, lover,” he said smoothly, locking his hand around hers. In quick strides, he led her through the deserted hallways back to their rooms. “At least you had the sense to bring Donato.” Who now stood outside their doors, alert as always. 

“I was mad at you,” she mumbled, rubbing her hand as they burst through the doors. “Not suicidal.” 

Smirking, he stalked towards her. “Now tell me, lover. Tell me why you allowed that boy to touch you.” 

“He didn’t touch me. And you manipulated me!” 

“No, I didn’t. I used a situation to show you the truth.” 

“I already knew that truth. I already knew what they were.” Buffy’s eyes lighted on his, angry and colorful. “Stop using Lindsey as an excuse.” 

“Excuse, m’dear?” that smooth voice was back, his delivery sending a shiver of apprehension through her. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him. “Oh, no, ye’ve got it all wrong.” And the Irish lilt was back in his voice. The sexy Irish lilt Buffy loved so much. Damn him. 

“’Tis no excuse I’m using, but you. You’re using me as an excuse to keep them in the right.” 

Was she? Maybe. “Not the point. The point is you lied to me. I never expected that from you. I never expected you to lie to me. Never.” 

Pausing in his next words, Angelus looked at her. She meant it. Meant it in the sense that even when he was courting her, even when they fought, she knew he’d never lie to her. 

“You know I didn’t, love,” he said, hands caressing her shoulders.  

“Lie,” she shook her head, sighed. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t make the hurt any less.” 

He didn’t expect the hurt in her voice to affect him so. Oh, Angelus knew he’d do anything for her, had, in fact. But to recognize that her hurt hurt him, that her happiness was his. Was this what the soul had? Was this that love the soul fought to protect? 

Angelus almost wanted to apologize, to rid her beautiful eyes of the pain that shone out at him. Instead, he let her take the lead. Let her lean her head against his chest. But couldn’t resist holding her close, locking his arms around her so she couldn’t escape. Rested his cheek atop her head, breathing in her unique and beautiful scent.  

“Don’t leave me.” It was whispered, spoken in a quiet voice that she probably wasn’t meant to hear. She had, however, and tightened her arms around Angelus. 

“I’m still mad,” Buffy admitted in a quiet voice completely relaxed against his body. 

“Be mad all you want, lover. But make sure you know who you’re mad at.” 

Buffy looked up at him, watched his steady brown eyes. Saw the love there, the sincerity there, and she knew he wouldn’t ever say it. And, God, she needed to hear the words. She needed to hear him admit his feelings.  

Drawing his head down to hers, Buffy kissed him. Heat and passion, longing, need. She kissed him long and hard, pressing her body to his. Letting him feel what was within her. (Except for the niggling thought, that one tiny thought…what if I’m pregnant?)  

“I know who I’m mad at,” Buffy whispered as Angelus lifted her, crashed against the door with her, hiking her dress to her waist. She hissed in completion when he thrust into her. Brought her hands to her breasts, pinching her nipples to his satisfied groan of her name.  

“God, Angelus,” she moaned, clamping down on him as his cool fingers found and manipulated her clit. “Yes. Harder, baby. Please.” 

“Begging is good,” Angelus approved, fangs grazing her neck. She shivered, hand holding his head against her neck. “Beg me, lover.” 

He’d stilled, and Buffy whimpered. She moved her hips against his, but his control was better than hers. “Angelus,” she whispered, her own teeth biting on his neck. He shuddered against her, and she smiled. “Fuck me. Make me scream. Please, baby. Please make me feel whole.” 

“Whole,” he repeated, thrusting back into her, swallowing her mewls of passion, her cries of his name with his mouth. 

“Angelus!” she screamed, arching her neck, begging him… “Bite me,” she panted. “Please, bite me.” 

He did so, emptying himself into her warm body, giving all of himself to her, just as she gave him everything of her. He tasted her love. Her need. Her truth of Lindsey. The small part she still kept hidden from him.  

“I love you,” she breathed, head dropping to his shoulder.  

Angelus carried her to the bed, curled her tightly against him, and let her sleep. He wasn’t sure what had happened between them, knew she was still angry, that he was far from satisfied with the situation, but at least this was something. Pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, he watched her as she slept.
~~~~~~~~~~
He took one last sip from his drink, eyeing the bartender with interest. He was human, that was for sure, and yet served his demonic patrons with little complaint. Oh, Penn had seen it before, thousands of times over his years – sometimes it was easier and cheaper to serve demons than it was to pretend they didn’t exist. But this one, this Willy, seemed…he wasn’t sure what the word was.

To actually like his job? Ha, maybe that was it, and it was so rare to find someone who enjoyed their job anymore, that Willy stood out. 

“Amy,” he was shouting now to a young female, her dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. The scent of magicks clung to her, and her eyes showed the aftereffects of the early stages of addiction. “Have you seen Guy?” 

The human female walked up to the bar, her pale skin inviting, her neck all but calling for his attention. “He’s with his nephew, showing him the fine art of lightsabers.” 

Penn didn’t understand the reference, but Willy seemed to and snorted in amusement. “Obsession,” he muttered, moving down to Penn. 

“Anything else, friend?” 

“I’m interested in information,” Penn said, setting his glass onto the – surprisingly clean – wooden bar. “What can you tell me of Angelus and this new world?” 

He eyed Penn suspiciously, moved a step away from the bar. “Our new god, you mean?” Willy said in a tone of voice that indicated he was being watched – or maybe he was overly paranoid. “What do you want to know about him?” 

“What he’s like now,” Penn admitted. “We used to run together, back in the day.” 

Snorting, Willy shook his head, picked up his rag, and prepared to move away. “Yeah, that’s what they all say. If I was you,” he watched Penn closely, shook his head again. “I’d be careful, then. He’s not the same.” 

Wondering just what the sniveling human meant by that, and why no one in this damn place was willing to talk about Angelus – or the slayer – Penn stood and prepared to leave. All he gathered about the slayer was that she was beautiful, blonde, and even that was whispered in the darkest of corners, as if the demons were terrified of saying anything at all about her. 

He’d paid in advance for his drink, though how anyone used money wasn’t really clear. Still, it’d been a requirement of getting the drink, so he’d paid. Leaving now, he wondered what he’d find once he reached the palace. It wasn’t far now, and within half a day Penn estimated he’d be there.  

Sure enough, though time telling was a definite thing of the past, he arrived at the palace not too long after he left Willy’s.  

Good location that; definitely a smart business move on Willy’s part. 

He wasn’t stopped from entering the building, and that surprised him. Where were the guards? Angelus was such a stickler for security, from what he remembered, and Penn expected a dozen or more stationed at the entrance doors alone. Winding his way through the corridors, he was hopelessly lost within a minute; it was only through the faint Sire/Childe bond he shared with Angelus that allowed him to make his way to the main room.  

Except Angelus wasn’t within. A quick visual scan told Penn his sire was nowhere to be found, despite the persistent echo of a bond made over two hundred years ago. What, then, led him to this room? A tall vampiress, willowy and dark haired, floated up to him, her head cocked to the side, her eyes watching him with an intensity that disturbed him more than a little. 

She said nothing, but kept walking. 

Eyeing her curiously as she passed him, wondering what she was about, and why he felt an almost connection with her – oh. Maybe that was it. He hadn’t been around many vampires, and none of Angelus’ other childer, though he assumed his Sire had made others in the two hundred-plus years since Penn’s making, but maybe the echo of a bond he once shared with his Sire was somehow connected with this woman. 

But then he spotted her. 

His eyes were drawn, almost immediately, to the far corner of the room, and the fact that he still couldn’t find Angelus even with the vibe, disappeared when he saw her. The slayer. It had to be. No one else could have that kind of power streaming off her, though she wasn’t like any other slayer he’d ever seen. Not that he’d seen many, one, maybe two, but that wasn’t the point. No, the point was that she was there. 

And he had to see her. And he had to taste her. And he had to move closer, move into her presence, just to… 

Not questioning why she was surrounded by demons, dressed in a beautiful black dress, or decked out in rubies and diamonds and other gems he couldn’t identify, Penn crossed the room to her. He wanted a taste – desperately, urgently wanted a taste. 

He wanted to touch her, feel all that power as he sipped her blood-nectar. He wanted to see her skin as he carved into it, lapped at the blood, fucked her as she cried for him to stop. Drawn to her by a power he didn’t understand and didn't want to, he moved across the room. 

This was Angelus’ palace, and Penn didn’t stop to think past that – why the slayer was alone, why she was not already screaming and writhing in agony? Why she was there, not chained in the basement? Or to Angelus’ bed? Why she was so, so beautiful, ethereal and otherworldly, graceful, yet strong, powerful? Yes, above all powerful. 

No, all he saw was her, that sweet power, the addicting blood, the need, the sheer need of her. It called to him, beckoning him closer, ever closer, and he obeyed. There was no other choice but to obey. He had to have her, needed to taste her, to touch her. She was the antithesis of everything he was, and he wanted to taste, touch, have, possess that forbidden power. 

She laughed at something one of the demons said, raising the flute of wine or champagne to her lips. Beautiful, full red lips that curved upwards, opening as she spoke. Penn heard none of what she said, no all he saw was her. All he wanted was to experience that which was her.  

And still he needed her. He had to have her. He…close. He was close, and Penn couldn’t wait any longer, the pull was too strong, the necessity of having her – he couldn’t control it, nor could he deny it. 

She was the slayer, only the slayer, and fair game. Whoever these demons surrounding her were, whatever they wanted, he had precedent. He was Angelus’ Childe, his First Made; and while it’d been decades since he and Angelus had seen each other, that made little difference. In their world, in the vampire world, hierarchy was what counted. 

He attacked. 

He was stronger, dominant, older…she was only the slayer, and a woman. She was weak. Penn attacked with a snarling sound that alerted her. Or maybe she’d already known he was there, already sensed his desire to take her? 

Buffy looked up, watched the snarling, foaming vampire with detached interest, handed her champagne flute to B’amotswee, Lord B’Wanna’s wife, with a contemptuous smile and without spilling a drop, and easily caught her attacker. 

Hardly a match for her, Buffy quickly subdued him, catching him by the throat, her eyes wild, yet her manner calm. It was the contrast even she noticed within herself – the will to fight, to defend, and yet the strange inner tranquility that kept her from destroying everything around her. The demon/slayer within her was hiding something even from Buffy, and yet at the same time, it was that same something that made Buffy wonder.  

Was it truly hiding it? Or had she yet to fully realize everything? 

“Are you people stupid? It’s been ages now, and you still attack me?” Her hand tightened, and she brought the still struggling vampire closer. There was a familiarity about him, a sense she got off him. But Buffy wasn’t sure what that was, or even why she thought that in the first place. 

“Are all vampires blind?” She shook him once, before looking over his shoulder at Angelus who was quickly stalking through the crowd, angry and scared, though he didn’t show that last emotion to the watching masses.  

Huh…he’d been in another room with Lord B’Wanna when all this started. Had she called out for him? Unconsciously calling for him to come to her? Or had he known? Simply known as he often did? But oh, how she liked it when he knew she needed him. Or, in this case, that she could take care of herself, but still wanted him. Maybe she could convince him that whatever he was doing could wait… 

Smiling seductively at her mate, Buffy returned her attention, with a hardened smirk, to the vampire in her grip. “Don’t you know what the Mark on my neck means, you moron?”  

Apparently, he hadn’t seen it, for only now did his eyes stray to that mark. Going limp, eyes wide, he paused; no longer struggling, no longer trying to kill her. “Good vampire,” she mocked. “One with eyes, at least; they’re so few and far between. Idiot,” she mumbled. 

“Buffy?” Angelus asked, not bothering to look at the vampire. 

Nodding, she tossed her attacker onto the floor. Even if he tried to escape, he wouldn’t get far. Not with so many of the loyal around, and not with Drusilla growling at him as she was. The vampiress was angry, and Buffy couldn’t help but be thrilled by that, too. (Maybe she could talk with Drusilla. She hadn’t managed to speak with Willow yet, and Buffy needed – desperately needed – to talk to someone about what was happening to her.)  

“It’s fine, baby,” she whispered, moving her hand up to caress his cheek. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew. Knew that he worried for her, though she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Knew that he would never say those words, or at least not in the presence of so many. 

(All I wanted was for you to tell me. Was for you to – just once – say the words. Was that so difficult?) 

She was still angry with him, more than, actually. But solidarity needed to be maintained. Buffy wasn’t about to let any cracks between them be known. That was for them. There was enough of her personal and private life known. Anything else between her and Angelus was going to damn well stay between her and Angelus. 

Nodding, though his eyes gave away more to her, Angelus slipped her hand into his. He looked down at the vampire who dared attack his mate. And blinked in surprise. “Penn?” 

Not expecting a name to come from his lips, Buffy looked back at the vampire who was glaring up at Drusilla. Dru, who was still snarling, but hadn’t yet killed Buffy’s attacker, was mumbling about traitors and turncoats. Well, this was odd. “Ah, you know him?” 

“Dru, dear” Angelus ordered, tightening his hold on Buffy’s hand. “Pick him up.” As she obeyed without comment, Angelus kissed Buffy’s hand, eyes flickering to hers. Holding promise and need, and she smiled back at him. Whatever this was, and she really had no clue, she was confident in her safety – more importantly, in his.

“Penn,” Angelus drawled, walking in a leisurely circle around the vampire. “Long time no see. It’s been what, a couple hundred years?” 

“As I recall, Angelus, you were supposed to meet me in Rome.” 

Shrugging, he laughed. “Got sidetracked with more important things.” Penn visibly winced, but Angelus didn’t comment, merely laughed again. “So, you decided that now was as good a time as any to look up your Sire, eh?” 

“Kind of hard to miss, you changing the world.” Penn agreed, seriously outnumbered, and obviously confused. What was happening here? 

“Hmm,” Angelus’ eyes drifted to Buffy and he smiled at her, winked. Extended his hand once more and drew her to his side. “Yes. But attacking my Mate?” 

Looking something like a gaping fish, Penn tried to form words. It was no use. “What?” was his best effort. 

“As you traveled from wherever you were to here, you hadn’t heard? I’m surprised,” his hand drifted up her back, long cool fingers grazing the mark on the side of her neck. Buffy shivered, head automatically tilting to the side in silent demand for more. 

“Maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks,” Buffy murmured, forcing her eyes open, heavy with passion. “He’s obviously not as clear sighted.” 

Angelus snorted in amusement, but she felt the anger in him, the rage that someone – especially family – dared to touch what was his and his alone. Watching, Buffy saw Dru’s fingers dig into Penn’s neck, a trickle of blood on his neck. Good. Bastard. Attacking her like that. Who else had Angelus made over the years – and she didn’t want to think on that, because that meant admitting that he’d killed someone, purposely, to give them an eternity of murder, killing innocents– that could, conceivably, show up now? Creating their own childer, which led to thoughts that she was shirking her duty, and….breathe…

She had to calm herself, or everyone would know something was wrong, and that wasn’t to be. She couldn’t allow that, and wouldn’t. Allowing that put both her and Angelus in danger, and she couldn’t risk his life. Not ever. 

“So you traveled all this way, and hadn’t heard who your new goddess is?” Angelus shook his head, slipping from Buffy once more to deal with his childe. “Pity. It’d have saved you your punishment.” 

“Thou shall not suffer a sorceress to live,” Penn quoted, eyes hardening with hatred at he looked back at Buffy. 

Drusilla hissed in his ear. “Be careful, little brother,” she threatened. “For the kingdom of your god is at hand. My Angelus and his goddess will rule this planet for a thousand thousand years; neither heaven nor hell shall witness their destruction.” 

Voice losing all semblance of welcome, Angelus added just low enough for Penn to hear, “You threaten your goddess again, and you’ll see just what I can do.” 

“For there is no faithfulness in her mouth; she is in every part wickedness; her throat is an open sepulcher; she flatters with her tongue. Destroy her, O god; let her fall by her own counsels; cast her out in the multitude of her transgressions; for she will rebel against thee. But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou hath defeatist her.” 

“Quiet,” Angelus roared, and Penn’s words cut off mid-sentence as his voice was taken by the angry god. “Familial bonds go only so far, Childe; beware your wandering tongue.”  

Glaring at Penn, Angelus nodded to Dru, and said loudly for the gathered crowd to hear. “Though Penn is my Childe, it matters not. He dared touch your goddess – dared to attack her. You all know,” he looked around the gathered demons, obedient in their silence, knowing what was to happen next. “That my goddess, my mate, can defend herself – even against my errant childer. Penn,” he turned back to the shocked vampire – who kept wondering what had happened and where it’d all gone wrong – voice not lowering.  

“Only because you are childer will I not kill you. This is your one and only warning – attack your goddess again, and your dust will be an example for all to see. Drusilla,” he looked at his favorite, saw her already nodding. “Take him to the dungeons.” 

With obvious pleasure, Dru did just that. And when she threw him in the cell with Spike, still growling, she told Spike, “Daddy’s made a bad boy. He tried to attack mummy.” 

She left in a swirl of skirts, and Spike, slightly confused, turned to face his new cellmate. “Uh, let me guess. Angelus’ childe?” Penn nodded. “And you tried to attack Buffy?” Again, Penn nodded. “And you still live? Obviously…wow…Angelus must’ve been in a good mood.” 

Shrugging, Spike flopped on the cot, staking his claim – so to speak – on the only comfortable living space. “You really should know better. How’d you survive this long without listening to anything in this world?” 

“She’s the slayer,” Penn hissed. “And thou shall not suffer a sorceress to live. She’s to be tortured, fucked, and killed.” 

In an instant, Spike was up, fist curling around Penn’s already bruised neck. A neck, he was sure, was bruised from said slayer. Go Buffy. Or perhaps his dark princess, she did have a vicious protective streak in her when it came to Buffy. Face shifting, eyes glowing with hatred and self mocking, Spike wondered just when he had jumped on the Slayer’s bandwagon. Ah, well. Better that then death. 

“She’s our goddess, and Angelus’ mate. She’s more than anything this planet has ever seen, and you, buddy-boy, better learn that. Or whatever threat Angelus made to you will be carried out sooner than you think.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy watched Drusilla lead her attacker to the dungeons. She seemed, to Buffy’s amusement, more than eager to take him down there. Buffy wouldn’t be surprised if he suffered a few mishaps along the way…she wouldn’t be sorry, either. “Childe?” she asked. 

“First one,” he shrugged, turning his attention away from the scene and back to her. “Young and impulsive, I guess – thought I saw something in him that reminded me of me.” He shook his head, looking not into the past, but at her. “What can I say, he bored me.” 

“Everything bores you, lover,” she smirked, hand trailing down his chest.  

Knowing it was mostly for show. Knowing that she was still angry with him. Hurt, betrayed. Knowing…knowing that she desperately wanted him, too. That she still loved him, though Buffy wasn’t even sure when that happened. But, God, it hurt that he’d used her that way. 

“Eventually, everything does,” he agreed, leaning over, lips a breath’s away from hers. “Everything except you, my love.” 

Smiling brightly at him, forcing thoughts of betrayal and hurt away, she let the love she felt, undiminished even with her discovery of his tactics, Buffy moved the bare space between them to kiss him. She let everything she felt flow in that kiss (Would it be so bad, to have his child? To hold something that was solely ours, his and mine? His…his child. To watch the child grow, learn, love. To watch something Angelus and I created…. No, no it wouldn’t.) 

And still she held something back from him. What was it? What was she hiding from him? But then she was kissing him again, promising things with her mouth and body that had Angelus forgetting everything else. 

“Do you?” she whispered it, wondered it. Hoped. 

“Is this about your friends?” his voice was hard. “Is this about you thinking that I betrayed you?” 

“It’s about me wondering why you manipulated a situation you already controlled,” she admitted. “It’s about me hoping that there’s nothing else you’re keeping from me. Nothing more that’s going to…” break the trust between us. Hurt me.  

“All I want is you,” he said. “All I want is you in my bed, safe from those who would see you hurt. Destroyed. Did I manipulate the situation?” he shrugged. “Yes. Would I do it again?” His voice was fierce now, determined. “Yes. In a moment. Why?” he kissed her, hard, fast, crushing his lips to hers. “Because they are the ones to keep us apart. They’re the ones to hurt you. I’ll destroy everything that has that chance, love. Everything that wants to hurt you. Even them.” 

“I know,” her hand cupped his cheek. “But if you do that, you don’t give me the choice. If I can’t choose, then how do you know what – who – it is I really choose?” 

“I’ll be the only choice left, Buffy.” 

The fact that he used her name told her what all his words could not. That he was serious. Deadly serious. “I know,” she nodded, touched her lips gently to his. A direct contrast to his previous kiss. “But then that’s not what you want, is it?” 

No. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t that at all. “I want you. I want only you.” 

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